


Misery

by forestgerard



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Revenge Era, Unhappy Ending, frank likes to hang out at cemeteries, gerard is hella mysterious, ghost au, ghost!gerard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestgerard/pseuds/forestgerard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've never had a real friend, someone that actually cared about me, and then you showed up, to make this guy who loves to hang out at cemeteries happy."</p>
<p>Frank Iero just wanted to get away from the world as he visited that cemetery. His friends had abandoned him, his family was completely disfunctional, and his life was crap. He didn't mean to meet Gerard Way, who will trigger a series of events that would change his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery

**Author's Note:**

> So... This is the first fic I post here, and I'm hella proud of it. It was actually originally written in spanish, so there must be some grammar/spelling errors, sorry for that. It's dedicated to Jordan bc yes.

Frank leaned over the grass, ironically green and full of life, his back lying on the rock of a grave and his arms moving over the wet ground of the cemetery. He looked at his fingers, the black nail polish which was already falling of his short nails, and the scratches from the constant use of his guitar. He watched every single detail around him, the little flowers that grew vaguely in certain places of the terrain, the gifts that people left on the tombs nearby the one he used as rest. The quantity of time the young man spent in that creepy place, lost in his thoughts or the whispering of the breeze, on the way that silence wrapped around him, swallowing him so he could concentrate, write the song he was currently working on, or just put on his earbuds and be quiet around the ones who weren't living anymore was alarming.

 

Sometimes, there were sounds. Small creaks, footsteps or just the whisper of the night breeze, but, surprisingly, he didn't feel any fear. He felt less alone. He felt loved. Maybe because he could never feel loved in the company of the living. Maybe because he fantasized too much with death, to the point when his lyrics were stained with blood and suffering. They weren't happy songs about the life of a normal teenager, nor sweet love songs, a feeling that never reached the boy's heart.

 

It was that day when he found the boy. First, he saw black hair moving quickly, a blurry figure in front of his eyes, and he couldn't let it go. Was it someone who felt like him? Who looked for the company of the tombs and crucifixes to feel better? He got up, and the owner of the dark hair looked at him, showing a pale skin and a pair of amber eyes who taked his attention almost instantly. They looked so full of life, contrasting with the skin that screamed death on every side, with the blood-stained buttoned shirt he was wearing.

 

“Hello?” He asked, getting cautiously close to the young man, who smiled shyly before running to he trees that were planted in the terrain.

 

He followed him, trotting across the branches, the cold seeping through his bones, but he didn't care. He must find the mysterious guy, and following the path he went across, he didn't find anything. How did he get to run that fast? Even to the point of dissapearing for the rest of that night.

 

The amber eyed guy didn't come back. Frank kept going to the cemetery, thinking in what was currently happening in his life, in the way he surprisingly failed all of his subjects at school, the way his mother, the person that was supposed to love him more than anything, considered him a failure, a piece of trash, or simply the reason why her life wasn't like she wanted it to be. It was because of those things that his tears were hiding on the graves, a non-verbal secret between death and himself. But if there was someone who listened to him, he was doomed. That person would tell his mother, would show her his biggest secrets, the ones he told a random deceased. The one he chose lately was “Gerard Arthur Way”. He sat in front of the tomb, reading the information that identified him. He died at the age of twenty one, far too young, which surprised Frank. Most of the people that lied there were middle aged or even elders, which lived a long life, while this one probably couldn't even fall in love.

 

He told him about his life, his family, his problems and the way that his friends left him alone, Mikey and Ray had transfered to other school, and Pete and Patrick were dating, too busy trying to impress each other to look at the broken boy that sat with them. His tears ran silently down his cheeks, and he felt eyes settling at him. When he looked up, he was there, his amber eyes that blended with a soft green when he looked closer. The guy grinned, this time showing his teeth, his pink lips stretching and wrinkles forming at the sides of his eyes. Frank found it completely adorable.

 

“Hello.” He said, and he could swear that his voice, with a strong Jersey accent that proved he lived nearby and he wasn't a tourist, was one of the most beautiful ones that he ever heard. “Are you okay?”

 

“Well, if I'm honest, no. I've been telling this guy all the shit that has been happening in my life.” He confessed, pointing to the name that was written in the stone with his index finger. “I don't know, I just like to hang out at cemeteries. I don't even have a relative here.”

 

“It makes you feel peaceful, doesn't it? Like if you were immersed in a quiet sea, where there's no waves that crash with you or problems that stress you. Like, if the infinite darkness filled you and you want to come back home, but the place you used to call home isn't it anymore, so you must stay here, with the dead.” The dark haired said, his voice calm and slow, like he had all the time in the world to formulate that phrase. This guy talked poetry, he issued out of his throat words that could compete with any famous book. The teen just fell silent, analyzing the feeling that the boy in front of him described. How did he know him so well? It was amazing, just like he had read his mind.

 

“What's your name?” He asked after a while, curiosity filling his words. He could possibly find a friend that wouldn't leave him or ignore him, that really worried about his feelings and problems. And after all, he could do the same with him.

 

“Gerard.” He spoke, detached. The young man just ignored the fact that it was the same name that belonged to the deceased that rested in front of them, and he introduced himself.

 

“I'm Frank. Nice to meet you.”

 

They continued, discovering they both loved comic books and music, even when Gee -which was how Frank called him lately- was very humble about his guitar skills. The amber eyed was older than him for five entire years, even when he looked like a teenager, but he didn't say anything about it. He even achieved to get the older one to sing some parts of a song he was working on, “Skylines and Turnstiles”, which was really awesome. They both loved the Misfits and the Smiths, and by the end of the night, when the dawn dyed the dark sky, Frank excused himself saying that his mom would kill him if he didn't find him in his bed.

 

Surprisingly, his mother haven't noticed he wasn't home, so he just dressed with his school's reglamentary uniform and took all of his books and headed to another day in hell, where you're a failure if you don't have a good memory and your stress and anxiety levels raise to the sky, to the point where you can't repress the tears, where you want to run away so you don't have to come back there. The day was relatively good, even when Frank remained distracted most of the time thinking of that boy, his amber eyes, the way his lips curved and showed his small teeth. When he arrived home, he found the house empty, so he decided to recover the lost hours of sleep. After that, he returned to the place he used to visit almost every night.

 

And they continued hanging out every night, and more than once Frank brought his guitar with him and they'll write some songs. When they finished “Our Lady Of Sorrows”, the sixth song, they were both tired -even when Gerard looked like that every day and his eyes started losing the brightness that identified them- and the younger one felt the known ache in his fingers for pressing too hard on the strings to perform a chord. The melodious voice of the oldest combined perfectly with the fast and aggresive tune, sometimes to the point where he could only express the lyrics screaming, and they both panicked because they could wake up someone who was sleeping nearby. Their looks connected, and Frank couldn't help but get lost in his eyes, in the golden strings the moonlight highlighted, and his gaze drifted to his lips, but he quickly averted those thoughts of his mind.

 

“Is anything happening, Frank?” He asked, his name sounding really good in his voice.

 

“Not at all, what about you?”

 

He remained thoughtful for a while, biting his lower lip the way he did when he was concentraded while writing a song, or when there were instrumental parts in these, as he was insecure of his voice.

 

“It's just... This may sound weird, but there's something in you that reminds me of my brother.” He confessed, and then he started biting his nails in a sing of anxiety. “Why was he so nervous?” Frank asked himself hours later, his body laying in his bed, alone, but he didn't find an answer.

 

“Oh.” Was the only thing he could say. “I'm so sorry. Is he, y'know...?”

 

“No, no.” He answered, giggling. “It's just that I haven't seen him in what seems like ages. I miss him, but he's better off without me, I guess.”

 

It was then when Frank noticed the scars in his arms, the marks in his neck, so real, like he just hanged himself with rope. His trembling fingers, his black shirt, the same one he used every night, that was spilled with blood. Why did this guy come to the cemetery? Maybe it wasn't what Frank thought. Maybe... Maybe he was suicidal. Maybe he self harmed because he didn't live with his brother anymore, or maybe he was kicked out of his house and lived there. There were so many possibilities, so many hypothesis, so many secrets to discover, and when he saw his eyes one more time, he worried even more than he had worried for someone in his entire life. He didn't want him to suffer. He prefered pointing himself with a gun, press the trigger and die with a bullet inside of his brain than Gerard doing the same. He thought about all the times he felt attracted to someone. It never was a bond as strong as the one he felt with him, even if they just knew each other since some weeks ago.

 

That's when he noticed he loved him.

 

He obviously didn't mention it that night. They ignored what happened before, and continued practicing the song, but the youngest had a plan for the next day. When he woke up -late, because it was a Saturday- he went to the local record store and bought the ones that Gerard called his favorites, adding some of his personal selection. He did the same with some comic books, and he also bought some roses, the old lady from the store telling him that “they must have been for a very special person”, who automatically caused a smile to appear in his face.

 

When he entered the cemetery he was there, the boy that, in such a small period of time, had lightened his days, looking sadder than ever. That shattered his heart in a million pieces, looking at the person who fixed him completely broken. He wanted to hug him, telling him that everything would be alright, even when he was the first one who knew that it wasn't alright, and it probably would never be.

 

“Hi.” He talked, his voice calm and submissive, waiting for the perfect moment.

 

“Hey.” He answered, and he could feel the pain in his voice.

 

Frank approached the older one, giving him the flowers and the gifts wrapped in red paper, which made Gerard's lips curve in a smile. The hazel eyed smiled too, because everything that made the dark haired happy developed the same feeling in him.

 

“I wanted to say thanks, y'know? I've never had a real friend, someone that actually cared about me, and then you showed up, to make this guy who loves to hang out at cemeteries happy. This is too shallow to actually express what I feel for you, but I suppose that I did it to make you feel better, too. Please, I want you to be happy, just like you made me. I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable.”

 

“Frankie...” He mumbled, and after that he kept quiet for some moments. “Thank you so much.”

 

Frank got closer to the older one, and unexpectedly wrapped him in a hug.

 

That made his whole world break into pieces.

 

“No!” Gerard screamed, terrified, but it was too late. Frank broke through his body, his image completely blurry in the younger's sight, completely shocked because he couldn't touch him. He tried to touch his face, and the same thing happened. A cold feeling roamed through his fingers as they immersed into his pale skin. “I swear I can explain it, I swear it, I swear it...”

 

But Frank didn't listen to him anymore. The fear sharpened even more, and tears streamed trough his cheeks, falling into the ground. Was it all an illusion? If it was, it was fucking unfair. His vision became even more blurry, until Gerard was only a black and white figure, and his tears didn't help him distinguish what happened.

 

They found him the next day, still crying, still in fetal position over Gerard Way's tomb, where a black shirt and red tie layed, and on top of them a bouquet of roses and a pile of CDs and comic books. He could remember Mikey, who moved to another town because this one reminded him of his brother. He could remember Gerard Way, alive, kissing Frank in his sixteenth birthday, althought he turned seventeen a few days ago. He could remember his lifeless body on the coffin, the cuts in his wrists, the way he found him hanging in his bedroom, and the way he wrote “Love you, Frankie” on his suicide note.

 

He was admitted into the Saint Claire's Psychiatric Hospital, and when he arrived the only words he could pronounce were his name. Gerard was dead. He was gone, and he would never kiss his pink lips, or touch his pale skin, because he wouldn't come back. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia. They kept him in a white room for seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months, years... He still cried every night.

 

Twenty years later, visits were allowed. Only his mother remembered him. Even Mikey, the guy who used to be his best friend forgot about his existance, but he couldn't care less. None of that mattered.

 

Because Gerard was there, his red tie, his black shirt -with blood stains, as usual- and his amber eyes. Because the fact that he was sick didn't matter as long as his Gee was there. Those doctors, with his hospital gowns and looks of contempt were wrong. He wasn't a product of his imagination, like the dark creatures taht appeared every night were.

 

Gerard was real.

 

Wasn't him?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't kill me, please.


End file.
